


Dainty Chains

by nfra3711



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Secret Relationship, because plotless shirayuki fluff runs in my blood and i can't escape, first half is shitenhoji shenanigans, on realizing that their buchou may or may not be seeing someone, second half is just plotless shirayuki fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 15:11:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13056552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nfra3711/pseuds/nfra3711
Summary: Upon returning from the winter holidays, Shiraishi doesn't quite seem like himself. His teammates are curious.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [ this picture of Shiraishi wearing a ring necklace](http://tenipuri.jp/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/03.jpg). That's it, that's the entire inspiration. We find inspiration in a hopeless place :')

Zaizen hadn’t noticed when they bumped into each other right in front of the school gate- exactly two minutes before the bell would ring, so loud that it could have deafen their ears (why it hadn’t yet, remained a mystery to him).

Zaizen Hikaru wasn’t exactly a star student. His grades would judge him eligible for the title, but his attendance, his diligence… his manners? Not so much. Throughout the last two years he had made it a clear point that he had zero intentions on arriving early at school, for any reason whatsoever. Sometimes it was because he had gone too late into the night staying awake in favor of games, or when it was one of those times where he was just so inspired to make his music (no, no matter what Kenya said, digital DJ-ing was _still_ music). Sometimes he was just plain lazy to get off of bed. And this morning was one of those.

But unlike him, Captain Shiraishi Kuranosuke was none of those. He was the sort of young man who would make sure he woke up right to the minute and to the second of his alarm clock, and he was the sort of young man who would make sure he used just the right amount of hair gel to make his ashy blonde hair look exactly the way he wanted to; tidy, in one place, but not stiff.

Just _perfect_.

So when he bumped into the said captain two minutes before the bell rang, with the older boy looking disgruntled and out of breath, Zaizen couldn’t help but stare.

Stare long enough until Shiraishi had taken notice, enough to make him a little bit uncomfortable.

“Zaizen,” Shiraishi laughed, but it sounded so forced it was almost enough to make Zaizen cringe. “Good morning, and a belated happy new year to you!”

“You too, captain,” Zaizen shifted on his feet, an eyebrow raised. “You’re late.”

“No I’m not, the bell hasn’t rang.”

“It will in thirty seconds.”

“Oh crap!”

In a quick huff, Shiraishi was gone, without bothering to drag Zaizen by the arm to make it through the gates before the bell.

That alone, was unusual. _Weird_.

But Zaizen still strode leisurely until he passed the gates.

 

\----

 

Kenya hadn’t noticed when the Mathematics teacher had called upon Shiraishi’s name- without the latter’s response. It took the teacher a third try and Kenya catapulting a tiny torn piece of his rubber eraser right at Shiraishi’s head that the blond finally twitched in his seat, and responded immediately with a nervous “Ye-ees?” that was drawn a bit too long to the end.

He didn’t pay too much mind, everyone in the class was suffering various levels of holiday withdrawals - himself included. As much as Shiraishi liked to brand himself perfect, he wasn’t always so. At least, that much Kenya knew for a fact.

But it wasn’t Shiraishi when he dozed off, eyes blank and mouth open - looking like a total buffoon - during lunchtime, right above his lunch box, right in the middle of the classroom.

“Shiraishi.”

No response.

Kenya impatiently tapped his fingers on the table. “Hello? Earth to Shiraishi?”

The one called twitched, again, just as he did during lecture hours. The look he gave him was sloppy, almost as if he wasn’t completely there. Kenya looked at him weird.

“Keep doing that and you’re gonna start drooling all over your lunch.”

A weak, uninterested “What?” was the only response. And only when Kenya was frowning that Shiraishi got a hold of whatever crazy entity that had been possessing him all morning.

“Ugh, sorry, my bad,” he sighed, putting his chopsticks down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t sleep really well.”

Kenya didn’t even bother to hide his surprise. “You? Mister Shiraishi ‘I-Always-Sleep-7-Hours-A-Day’ Kuranosuke? Did not sleep well?”

“Quit scandalizing me,” Shiraishi looked back at his barely touched lunch box, and decided to opt for the juice sitting right next to it- barely touched as well. “Holiday’s a fair game.”

“You’re sayin’ it like you go hike the mountains for fun! You do nothing but water your weirdass plants and feed your beetle!”

“Well maybe I found something else to do.”

Kenya was definitely interested, and he was definitely up to probe for more information-- if only the bell hadn’t beat him to it and rang, signaling the end of their lunch break.

Shiraishi made another sigh, discontent when he realized he had barely ate three spoonfuls of his lunch. Kenya was about to sit him back down for a last minute heart-to-heart, but Shiraishi had already packed his lunch box in one swift motion, and was already back on his seat before Kenya could even say a word.

He almost felt like his speed was being challenged.

 

\----

 

Hitouji hadn’t noticed when Shiraishi didn’t really pay attention to him recapping the events of his day thus far; about how Koharu had refused to walk together with him to school in the morning because Hitouji had failed to call him the last two weeks of the holiday, and how Koharu had purposely talked in length about that one very charming, very handsome, and very, very attractive person from Seigaku (“Which one?!” Hitouji had exasperatedly asked) when he had failed to secure him his favorite strawberry and cream sandwich from the school cafeteria for lunch, and how Koharu had promised him that he _may_ entertain the idea of going home with him if Hitouji won the practice match they were to have that lovely afternoon…. All about Koharu, really.

“And that was how!” Hitouji continued to prance, right in front of Shiraishi’s face, his words loud and bouncy. “I lost my phone to a bunch of stupid seagulls, which meant I couldn’t call Koharu for two whole weeks! TWO! And it made him think I found someone else- which is impossible! And I don’t know how to make it right, and--”

“You could’ve just called him from your landline.” Shiraishi said, almost monotone.

“Oh!” Hitouji brought his fist to his palm, as if he had just heard the most genius, world-changing solution to his problems. “As expected from Shiraishi! You do know everything!”

The one praised just sighed, for the umpteenth time that day. “I don’t, that was just--”

And then his phone was buzzing, and like a dog trained to respond, Shiraishi immediately sat up right from his lazy slouch over the desk, hand immediately coiling around the phone and fingers eagerly punching in his key code. Hitouji just made a face.

“Woah there, you sure you smacked that screen hard enough?”

But Shiraishi’s attention on him was once again fleeting, and his eyes were stuck on the said screen while his thumb scrolled on it-- almost too gently after the unnecessarily vigorous key punching he just did. Hitouji thought only Zaizen could be so immersed into a phone.

“You okay there?”

“Mmhm.” Shiraishi was tapping on his phone again, but the dull, almost bored look that was so painfully transparent on his face a moment ago was gone, replaced by something brighter, something… happier? Hitouji could’ve sworn that it was the first time he saw Shiraishi smile that day.

“So!” Shiraishi stood up, sliding his phone into his pocket and picked up his bag. “I’m sure you’ll work it out with Koharu, you always do, but we got to head to the courts now, they must be waiting on us!”

He practically skipped on his steps as he disappeared into the hallway. He knew that Shiraishi was a young man with quite the positive outlook on life, but he didn’t think he had it in him to be _that_ jolly.

He supposed there were always new things to learn about his teammates.

 

\----

 

Osamu hadn’t noticed when Shiraishi walked into the locker room ten minutes later than he usually would have shown, followed by a Hitouji who seemed too frantic when he immediately started looking for his boyfriend. Shiraishi didn’t pause to give anyone the courtesy of greeting, but he was stopped short in his track when Osamu stood right between him and his locker door.

“That won’t do, captain,” the grubby looking coach chewed on his unlit cigarette (perhaps it was a half-finished lollipop this time, Shiraishi didn’t really bother to confirm). “You’re setting a bad example for the new joiners.”

“Ah, sorry,” it came more half-hearted than he intended it to be. “Yuuji kept me.”

“Hey!” The one accused threw him a frown, complete with an unsatisfied hiss. “You’re the one who kept looming over your phone like you’re waiting for lottery!”

“What’s this, what’s this?” The towering figure of one Chitose Senri was very hard to miss, but Shiraishi tried not make any unnecessary reaction- he was just not in the mood for it. “Shiraishi’s resorting to lottery? Ah, I know a couple of number combinations that always work.”

“Wait, since when are you kids doing lottery?” Osamu effortlessly re-joined the conversation, “Ah, Chitose, I might need those combinations…”

If he had a dollar for every time he sighed that day, Shiraishi would probably have easily bought himself a free dinner. But he decided to ignore the commotion of lucky numbers and convenience store gambling, and walked up to his locker (which was, fortunately for him, not a feat at all once Osamu was distracted).

He lazily plopped his bag onto the floor, pulling up a set of tennis uniform from it, and set it neatly on the inner surface of his locker. He was just about halfway to unbuttoning his shirt, when a shriek exploded right next to his ear that he had to instinctively pull away, covering the said ear and grumbled, forming half a pout.

“Koharu!” He groaned, “You scared me!”

“ _You_ scared me, Kurarin!” The bespectacled young man re-positioned his glasses, and leaned back close, quite uncomfortably close into Shiraishi’s direction that the tip of his nose was almost touching with Shiraishi’s neck, eyes squinting in pure concentration. “What. Is. _That_?”

“What is what?” Shiraishi’s pout was almost visible now, and he frowned to express that he didn’t quite enjoy feeling like he was being interrogated. But Koharu’s outburst had seemingly caught the interest of the residents in the small locker room, his teammates, and a few first and second years that have not yet left to run laps- all pairs of eyes were on him. Never in his life he felt so weird, so awkward to be stared at when he was halfway to being shirtless. “Stop it, all of you! You’re all creeping me out!”

“Is that?” Chitose started, yet not finishing his own question.

“Holy shit,” Kenya continued.

“Shiraishi, you little--” Hitouji seemed to be debating himself as to how to finish that sentence.

Shiraishi half hoped that someone- anyone of them would be so kind to finish whatever it was they wanted to say, put an end to his graceless misery of being like a half-naked mouse cornered by at least ten wondering pairs of cat eyes. But amidst his shame-stricken confusion that he had noticed, that they were all staring at exactly one point in his direction. Not at his face, but…

He gazed down at his almost-exposed chest, but not at the patch of skin that was shy behind the collars of shirt- but rather, what was over it.

During the course of the day, he had forgotten that he had worn that necklace to school.

It wasn’t as if he had broken any rule (Zaizen had a total of five ear piercings, after all). But he had caught up that it wasn’t why people were staring.

The door to the locker room slammed open, and he tried to tune it out when Kintarou spoke- yelled, in his usual high-pitched voice.

“What’s keeping you all in here for so long?! I want a match--”

Now the rascal was staring at him too, and Shiraishi just wanted to bury himself under dirt.

 

“Is that a _ring_ ?! Shiraishi, are you getting _married_?!”

 

\----

That was when everyone in the room collectively noticed. How Shiraishi had shown up to school late in the morning, how he was absolutely distracted from everything and anything all throughout the day, and how, when he was not busy being distracted and looking out of the window like some kind of a cheesy manga character, his eyes could not peel away from the screen of his phone.

And then the ring secured safely around his neck with the support of a dainty chain.

It all just suddenly made so much sense.

“So when is the party?” Kintarou continued to chirp, seemingly undisturbed by the peering stares everyone else was still giving the captain, “When is it? Are we invited? Will there be food? Hey Shiraishi!”

“Holy shit,” if let to his own device, Kenya would probably repeat the same two words over and over again. “Holy _shit_ , Shiraishi, since _when_?”

“Wow.” Zaizen seemed to just pop out of nowhere, phone ready, fingers typing in an inhumane speed, ready to draft a juicy blog entry. Shiraishi had never felt so scandalized.

“So, so!” Koharu looked a lot less appalled and a lot more intrigued, if not overjoyed, like the super chatty neighbor aunt whose ears were always tuned for the hottest gossips. “Who is this person? Do we know them? Are they in our year?”

“Shiraishhiiiiiiiii---!!!!” Hitouji had the nerve to look offended, as if they weren’t all just staring Shiraishi down like the latter had just committed murder. “I thought we all promised that Koharu and I would be the first to walk the aisle!”

“No one promised you that, hush!” Kenya countered, poking Hitouji on the arm by his tennis racket, and Hitouji growled at him. “But holy shit, Shiraishi.”

“Kenya-san, if you say ‘holy shit’ one more time, I swear.”

Chitose gasped as if he had just realized all the secrets of the universe, and Shiraishi was ready to slam a tennis ball right into his face before he even opened his mouth. “Is that why you’re doing lottery now? Because you need the money to-”

“No, you guys, _no_!”

It came out louder, if not more desperate than he wanted it to be, but he felt the need to rise his voice if he wanted to make a point- hoping that his face that had slightly tinted pink wouldn’t betray his resolve to settle the noise down (a futile attempt, he would find, as one was not a Shitenhoji student without having a knack for soap opera level drama).

“No, I’m not getting married. No, this is not a wedding ring. It’s just a necklace.”

“Just a necklace,” Hitouji mimicked, and Shiraishi had sworn if the guy dared to use his mimicry skills to speak in his voice, he would make him regret it.

“You don’t do jewelries, Shiraishi.” Kenya pointed out, and Shiraishi cursed at how much time Kenya had spent in his house to know his wardrobe and drawers inside and out. That didn’t mean the fool had to bring that up _now_ , out of all times. That traitor.

“Well it’s never too late to start, is it?”

“But that’s definitely a ring, isn’t it? I mean it can’t be anything else, right? That is a ring.”

At times, Chitose was a good friend, a much needed calming presence during difficult times. Other times, he was a total prick.

“Yes, it is a ring.” Shiraishi repeated him, “It’s a ring. Attached on a necklace. Which I liked and thought was pretty cool. So I bought it.” He hoped that by emphasizing every part of his statement, it would deliver some semblance of hint- a hint that absolutely everyone in the room should learn to take. He had hoped for too much, apparently.

“What kind of a loser buys a ring for himself?” Kenya retorted. He had zero intentions to offend Shiraishi, but the other really had to know that he was making absolutely no progress in convincing any of them.

“Well, me, apparently.”

“You’d rather call yourself a loser than tell us who you’re dating?”

“I’ve already told you, I’m not dating anyone.”

“No one’s buying it, Shirai--”

“Now then!” The captain clapped his hands together, unnecessarily loud to drown down whatever complaints or questions that were surely about to be thrown his way. He might be a friendly, approachable teammate, but he was none the less a captain- apparent by the way everyone in the room immediately shut whatever it was they wanted to say. “I would love to have some laps done and the practice matches started before the sun sets! Off you go! All of you!”

There was nothing but silence for a moment, and the pairs of eyes directed at him were clouded with doubt, and if he looked hard enough, he could probably see tiny specks of guilt in some of them. Shiraishi smiled, tried to ease the tension and to show that he was not at all upset about the unplanned interrogation.

“Or, what, do you all want to watch me undress?” He carelessly plucked open another button of his shirt, exposing more of his chest, and flexed in an almost comedic way it was more embarrassing if anything. “Be my guest!”

His small scene earned him a few laughters, and some less-than-happy sounding groans. It worked anyway, as the crowd dissipated, leaving only a few people left in the room who had not yet finished changing to begin with. Shiraishi was quite satisfied with himself.

He looked at the necklace around his neck again as he continued changing, entertaining the idea for the briefest of moments to take it off to avoid further unwelcome watching eyes.

 

He decided the necklace should stay on.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you at least say your good-byes?”

Shiraishi was, once again, not exactly paying attention. The bus trip that had taken them more than five hours thus far was starting to play its toll on him. It probably would have been a lot more tolerable, if it weren’t for the fact that they were going higher and higher up the mountains. He supposed he wasn’t expecting bright blue skies and the calm breezes of the ocean wind when they were invited to a _training camp._

Still, the monotonous views were starting to bore him out of his mind. That, and his ass hurt from sitting too long. He would’ve done one of his stretching routines or two, if only the bus was more generous in space.

“To who? My parents?”

“Well, yeah, that too,” Kenya shrugged, then plopped on the seat next to Shiraishi. “But you know who I mean.”

This time Shiraishi just chuckled. At some point he was past being annoyed over his friends continuously probing him for this so-called ‘mystery person,’ whom, according to the said friends, Shiraishi was dating behind their backs, apparently. He didn’t know when he started to find the attempts amusing, and he could never guess for his life where and how some of the guesses even came to be. Hitouji had once guessed he was dating Osamu’s younger cousin. Chitose’s guess was his little sister’s Yukari’s super sexy school infirmary teacher.

Shiraishi laughed.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Shiraishi mused.

“And you’re never giving it up, are you?” Kenya asked, though a small amused grin was plastered on his face. “We know you’re seeing someone.”

“I know you are too, Kenya,” Shiraishi hummed, placing his chin over his own hand. “Too bad the said person isn’t here, huh?”

“Wh-AAAT?!” The brunet spluttered, and was instantly back on his feet, face turning red.

Shiraishi laughed again. Kenya, bless his heart, was one of he best friends he could’ve ever asked for. But for someone with an alias like ‘ _Speedstar_ ’, he really wasn’t at all fast when it didn’t come to running. It brought Shiraishi the advantage, in these situations, because that also meant Kenya was the easiest among his team to fend off whenever there were topics that Shiraishi would’ve rather avoided. True to his predictions, the former was already retreating to his original seat, mumbling low cusses under his blushing cheeks. How adorable.

Quickly enough his mind wandered back to their destination. Both his parents and Yukari had expressed their concerns when he had told them that one evening- that he had received an exclusive invitation to one of Japan’s most prestigious training camps for young tennis players. He had been informed that the invitation was extended only to some select players across the country, after going through ridiculously tedious background checks and private investigations on their abilities. Shiraishi could definitely name a few young men he had come to know, that he knew would probably deserve the invitation more than him- but it was an honor nevertheless, and Shiraishi wasn’t going to ignore an opportunity that would present itself only once in his lifetime.

It wasn’t to say that he didn’t have his own doubts upon agreeing to go, there were a lot at stake after all- from all the day to day events that he would miss while he was at the camp, to his grades at school. But his teammates were there with him, weren’t they (well, most of them anyway), and they were going to go through whatever was waiting for them in this _camp_ together, weren’t they?

Suddenly he felt a lump in his throat.

Perhaps he didn’t realize he was doing it himself, but his fingers instinctively clutched around the ring hanging around his neck. As if doing so would offer him any comfort.

It did, if not just for a fleeting moment.

 

\----

 

“I didn’t expect they would room the three of us together!”

Fuji Syuusuke’s voice was soft, gentle, and his laugh was very singsong-like that it was hard to imagine that this was the same person who would crush absolutely anyone in the courts. But that was tennis, and this was this, the three of them standing on a circle in their brand new room that they were sharing. Shiraishi supposed it was too much of a luxury to expect a single suite for each of them.

“It’s surprising, indeed.” Next to Fuji stood one Yukimura Seiichi; a presence so feared in the courts that it earned him the title of ‘ _Child of God_ ’, and a stack of flower pots and duffel bags in floral patterns off the courts. If one missed the bulky looking tennis bag that was now sitting on the corner of one of the beds, one could make an assumption that Yukimura was here for some kind of a mission to turn the tennis courts into greenhouses.

Shiraishi wouldn’t mind that either, though.

“Let’s get along well, as _roommates_.” Yukimura extended his hand as a gesture of courtesy. While all three of them had been acquainted before, they hadn’t had the chance to get to know each other outside the formal perimeters of tennis matches.

Or at least, that was what Shiraishi wanted everyone to believe.

“Fuji,” Yukimura smiled, then glanced at his other roommate. “Shiraishi.”

They took turns to shake each other’s hand, and when Yukimura held his, he could feel the smooth fingers sneakily caressing his wrist, and Shiraishi could swear he saw Yukimura’s long eyelashes flutter in the short second their eyes met.

He was never more certain he had made the right choice to come to that camp.

 

\----

 

“You’re nervous.”

The kind, slow voice broke his thoughts, and Shiraishi didn’t realize that he had been dozing off. He wasn’t quite sure for how long he had been sitting on the edge of his bed, staring aimlessly at the floor beneath his feet.

He looked up, and Yukimura was there, dark curly hair tangled and wet, newly arrived from the shower.

He didn’t exactly know why he did, but he shifted to the side on the bed, allowing space for the other man to join him. Yukimura automatically took the cue, and did just that.

“Why would you say that?”

“You’ve been looking at the floor for fifteen minutes and you’re fidgeting with your hands.” Yukimura placed his hand on Shiraishi’s, which had been doing exactly that; fidgeting without the owner realizing it. “Calm down.”

“You must think I’m pretty lame to be nervous about such a ridiculous thing.” Shiraishi laughed, it came out way too dry for his liking.

“Ridiculous?” Yukimura echoed, his fingers one again trailed down Shiraishi’s wrists, and Shiraishi wished the simple gesture wasn’t doing _so much_ to him that he was shivering. “Is it, really?”

“You seem to be handling it better than I am,” he offered, hoping it would suffice as some sort of self-defense. It didn’t.

“I’m happy beyond words.” Yukimura leaned close, that his head was grazing Shiraishi’s shoulder, that it was close enough for Shiraishi to smell the fresh, shampoo-scented hair right under his nose, and it was doing _things_ to him that it was making him dizzy. “I thought I had to wait until summer to see you again.”

Shiraishi managed a chuckle. “You’re sure you’re not happy beyond words because there are heaps of new targets out here that you can absolutely annihilate?”

“There’s that,” he replied, as-a-matter-of-factly, his fingers slid from his wrist to his palm, “But I’m happy because you’re here too.”

Shiraishi had to smile. He couldn’t not smile. Yukimura was always so ruthless when there was a racket in his hand, and he had always given him, and _everyone_ , that unrelenting look in his eyes while he stood on a court. It never failed to make his heart skip a beat then, when Yukimura willingly rested his head against the crook of his neck, fingers twirling, dancing so kindly, too kindly over his palm, then their fingers would entwine ever so shyly, and he smelled of blossoms and peonies and it was overwhelming. Perhaps, in one way or another, his senses were being stolen here, too.

“Ah,” Yukimura continued, once again halting Shiraishi’s thoughts. He tugged on Shiraishi’s collar, before carefully pulling out the necklace with the ring on the end from under his shirt. Shiraishi wanted to believe that he saw Yukimura’s eyes twinkle. “You’re wearing it. I’m so happy.”

Shiraishi slumped his shoulders a little bit. “You have no idea how much trouble that ring gave me.”

“Oh? How so?” Yukimura’s eyes were still fixed on the ring, turning it ever so gently between his fingers. Shiraishi smiled again, complaints momentarily misted away from his mind.

“My teammates are convinced I’m seeing someone,” he continued anyway, “They’re terrible at guessing.”

“You leave them hanging,” Yukimura paused, then a grin flashed on his face. “Evil.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t do the same with your friends because I know you do.”

Yukimura was laughing this time and dear God, if Shiraishi’s poor little heart was about to burst that very moment, it would have been worth it.

“Hang on,” Yukimura shifted and stood up from the bed, made his way to the desk and shuffled through his purse (which was, of course, also drowned in floral patterns. This one had Gerberas on it. Shiraishi thought it was pretty enough to make him actually want one). It didn’t take another minute until Yukimura was back by his side, seated on the bed. He brought up a small case on the palm of his hand that was in the shape of a daisy flower, and Shiraishi had to blink when Yukimura went “Ta-da!”.

“That is a cute case, if that’s what you meant,” Shiraishi tried.

Yukimura laughed again. “No, silly, not that.”

He gingerly flipped the case lid open, revealing what was inside; a ring attached to a dainty, twinkling chain- identical to the one Shiraishi had around his neck.

Shiraishi knew they bought a pair of the same jewelry, so that they could match- so that it could remind them of each other when they were apart, he was right there when they made the purchase during the holidays. But somehow, looking at the long lost twin of his own ring, a fast blush crept upon his cheeks.

“So?” Yukimura poked him on the cheek, and Shiraishi almost jumped. “Put it on me, you lousy gentleman.”

“You had to do that, didn’t you?”

Shiraishi was pouting, but Yukimura was not paying attention, as he regally turned his back against the former, pushing the damp hair from his neck that may get in the way. Shiraishi made a content sigh as he gazed upon the smooth skin of his lover’s nape, and ran patient fingers across it. It gave him a sense of satisfaction when Yukimura shivered in response.

He delicately pulled the necklace from the daisy-shaped container, with no rush placing it around Yukimura’s neck. Yukimura shouldn’t blame him, he thought, when he couldn’t help but plant an attentive kiss right on the base of his neck.

Yukimura twitched this time, and Shiraishi knew that if there was a sound that involuntarily escaped his lips, his lover was far too proud not to make a conscious effort to hold it in. That, in a way, was another thing about Yukimura that he found so, so irresistible.

“You had to do that too, didn’t you?”

Now Yukimura was pouting, but easily allowed himself to be pulled into Shiraishi’s arms, content when he felt his back touching against the latter’s warm chest.

“I missed you,” Shiraishi whispered, low, into the dampness of Yukimura’s dark hair. God, oh god he had been wanting to do that ever since Yukimura first walked into the room.

“Me too,” Yukimura said, fingers once again finding their way against Shiraishi’s arms that were so eagerly wrapped around his waist. “And by the looks of it, we’ll be stuck together for a while this time.”

 

Shiraishi laughed into his hair. “It’s perfect.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bless Tenirabi for dragging me back into shirayu-- tennis hell. 
> 
> This was meant to be a short one-shot that snowballed unexpectedly and I don't really have a plot for it in mind tbh. I'd love to write a next part but I honestly don't know what direction this should take hdjfjkfjg Enjoy the snow white cheese! <3


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